expression from his face, the energy from his body. He sat, an inert
mass, void of initiative, his intelligence open to what might be
brought to his notice.

"Virginia, this is true?" his heavy, dead voice rumbled through his
beard. "You know who aided this man?"

Ned Trent mutely appealed to her; her glance answered his.

"Yes, father," she replied.

"Who?"

"I did."

A dead silence fell on the room. Galen Albret's expression and
attitude did not change. Through dull, lifeless eyes, from behind the
heavy mask of his waxen face and white beard, he looked steadily out
upon nothing. Along either arm of the chair stretched his own arms
limp and heavy with inertia. In suspense the other three inmates of
the place watched him, waiting for some change. It did not come.
Finally his lips moved.

"You?" he muttered, questioningly.

"I," she repeated.

Another silence fell.

"Why?" he asked at last.